


Chocolate Therapy

by RosellaC



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Ending, Friends With Benefits, One Night Stands, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosellaC/pseuds/RosellaC
Summary: Cyril's feeling sorry for himself. Pam helps out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts immediately after Empty Orchestra. This started out as an outtake from that fic, based on what Lana begged Pam to do for her, but Pam and Cyril had their own ideas about where to go from there, and, well, you'll see. 
> 
> Not my circus, not my monkeys. No copyright infringement intended.

Krieger’s dropped them all back at the office after karaoke, and they’re scattering home for the night. 

“Well, I think we can call this one a success,” Pam says proudly. 

“Yeah, we didn’t get banned from the bar, and nobody got arrested, so I guess we can call that a win?” Lana still sounds skeptical, but she’s smiling. “Thanks for doing this. I actually had fun.” 

“Told ya! Next time don’t be such a frickin’ buzzkill all week beforehand.” 

“I’ll do my best. And what I said to you earlier, about Cyril? Serious as a heart attack.”

“Oh, I got that.” Pam winks at Lana. “I’m on it. Hopefully also on him.” 

“ _Ugh._ Spare me the details. Please.” 

***

Pam jogs to catch up with Cyril as he walks down the street, head-bowed and alone.

“Hey, Cyril! Wait up!”

Defensive, his shoulders immediately stiffen, and he doesn’t turn to look at her. “If you’re here to give me more crap, I’m warning you, I’m not in the mood.” He’s trying to sound tough, but she can hear the hurt behind it. 

“No! I just wanted to walk with ya. Is that a crime now?”

Cyril sighs. “What do you _want,_ Pam?” 

She decides it’s a better tactic to play innocent for a while, given his mood. “I’m pretty shitfaced. Need to walk around for a while to sober up before I go home.” 

He still looks like he doesn’t entirely believe her, but he doesn’t tell her to go. They walk in silence for a couple of blocks, until she sneaks a look at Cyril’s face and he just looks so utterly defeated she can’t stand it. Hand on his shoulder, she stops him in his tracks. “Cyril. Talk to me, buddy. You look like you’re plannin’ to go home and shoot yourself.” 

He shakes his head, but his face crumples, followed by the rest of him. He sags against the side of a building, looking lost. She keeps her hand on him; her promise to Lana has gone right out of her head, replaced by genuine worry for him, and she can tell he’s in no shape to go home alone. 

Cyril finally looks up at her, face empty. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“Wanna come home with me and hang out for a while? We can talk about it if you want, or not.” It’s a measure of just how torn up he is that he nods at her and stands back up, evidently trusting. 

“OK. C’mere first.” She gathers him in for a hug to give him some strength, and it actually seems to help a bit. He sniffles, but she pretends not to hear, and they keep going. 

***

Cyril’s collapsed on Pam’s couch while she putters around in the kitchen, killing some time to give him a chance to compose himself. He looks a bit better when she comes in, not happy by any means, but not quite as crushed as he looked outside, and she sits down next to him. He looks at her, brown eyes soft, and gives her his best attempt at a smile. It’s not very good. 

“Want some ice cream?” Pam knows he has almost as big a sweet tooth as her own, and this gets a genuine smile to appear. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds really good. Thanks.” 

She heads to the kitchen again and comes back with a couple of pints of Ben and Jerry’s and two spoons. Cyril knows her, after all. He’d probably be shocked if she bothered with such niceties as a bowl. 

“Dig in.” She hands him his pint and plops down on the couch with her own. “Cheers.” 

***

Pam might be the world’s worst HR director, but she’s actually a pretty decent therapist, if she does say so herself. She figures the level of Cyril’s ice cream has dropped far enough by now that it’s safe to start talking, so she turns to him and tilts her head inquiringly. That’s all it takes; Cyril sets his pint down and sighs deeply. 

“It’s killing me, Pam. I can’t watch the two of them together anymore.” He doesn’t need to explain further, but of course he does. “I _knew_ Lana was on the rebound, going in. I never had any illusions about that. I promised myself I wasn’t going to get attached, but I just couldn’t believe someone like her was willing to be with someone like me, and I couldn’t help falling in love anyway. And it’s worse because it was my own insecurity that made her dump me.”

“And your failure to keep it in your pants,” Pam observes. 

Cyril glares at her. “It’s called an _addiction._ You, of all people, should be sympathetic.” 

“Whatever, Casanova. You’re not wrong about the insecurity thing, though. You have a major inferiority complex, and no reason for it that I can see.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“What I said. You have no reason to feel sorry for yourself. I know your dad was King Asshole and I know Malory shits on you all the time. She shits on everybody – that’s just how she rolls. It’s not personal. Most of us don’t let it get to us as bad as you do, though.” 

“Then what’s _wrong_ with me? For God’s sake, even _Krieger_ has a real live human girlfriend now!”

“Cyril.” Pam decides it’s time to stop the Self-Pity train in its tracks before it pulls into Sobbing Mess station, and takes his hand in both of hers. “Hey. Listen to me. There is only one thing wrong with you besides your insecurity, and as my dad used to say, it’s that your picker’s broken.” 

“My what now?”

“Your picker. It’s broken. You’re having no luck with relationships because you’re pickin’ the wrong women. It never would have worked out with you and Lana because you’re not what she really wants. Archer’s a complete asshole, and on some level, that obviously does it for her. You’re not an asshole, deep down the way he is, even though you definitely act like one sometimes.” She sighs. “You’re cute as hell, Cyril, you’re obviously smart, you’re gainfully employed, and what you’re packin’ ought to be registered as a lethal weapon. There is no reason you shouldn’t be drownin’ in pussy.” 

“Ugh.” He makes a face. “That’s a mental image I didn’t need.” 

“Seriously though. All you need is confidence. So go out and have yourself some mind-blowin’, earth-shatterin’, bed-rockin’ sex – it’ll make you feel better about yourself, and you can finally get over Lana and go out and find the real love of your life.”

Cyril stares thoughtfully down into his ice cream for so long that Pam thinks maybe he's falling asleep. Just as she's about to break the awkward silence, he looks back up at her and raises his eyebrows. "You offering?"

“Sure, why not?” She shrugs, pretending a nonchalance she doesn’t actually feel. “But I’m not takin’ advantage of you tonight. Your head’s not in the right place right now, and we’re both still drunk.” 

“We were blackout drunk last time it happened,” he points out, reasonably enough. 

“Well, that’s kinda my point. Don’t you want to actually remember it this time?” Pam grins at him. “I know _I_ do. And if you want a reference in the meantime, just ask Archer.” 

“Wait. What?? You and _Archer?!_ When was this?” 

“A couple years ago. We weren’t dating or anything, just fuckbuddies for a while, before he got back together with Lana and I got together with coke.” 

“Wow.” Cyril looks like somebody just told him accounting had been voted the world’s sexiest profession. “Never would have guessed it.” 

“So now you know. I _can_ keep a secret when I want to. And you know what else?” Pam’s smile is positively dangerous now. “Sterling Malory Archer, Manhattan’s master poonhound, bangin’ one of the hottest women to ever walk the planet, says _I’m_ the best sex he’s ever had.” 

“Jeezy Petes.” 

***

After that, Pam figures it’s safe to send Cyril home without worrying too much about what he’ll do when he gets there. 

They’re at the door to her apartment, and he’s about to leave, when she says “One more thing before you go.” He gives her a questioning look, and she hauls him in by his rumpled tie and kisses him, hard. He tastes of chocolate ice cream and just a little bit of bourbon, not a combination she’s ever had a problem with. With her other hand, she cups and squeezes him, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to show him she means business. She can’t remember anything about their last encounter, but she figures anyone who’s dated Lana Kane can’t be averse to a little manhandling, and his reaction proves her right. He sighs into her, starting to harden in her hand, and she lets him go. 

“Just a little taste,” she murmurs to him with a smirk. “You know where to find me when you’re ready.” Dazed, he nods, and turns around to head down the hall. Pam shuts her door behind him, and leans against it, satisfied. 

_I give him three days before he’s back here beggin’ for it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! I promised you smut, and smut you shall have.

She’s wrong. 

It’s not even twenty-four hours before her phone lights up with a text from him. _Dinner tonight?_

Classic Cyril. Pam rolls her eyes and texts him back. _When have I ever turned down dinner? But this is not a date. Don’t make it weird._

_It’s a thank you for last night. Don’t be mean. I’ll see you at 8._

***

“…And that’s when Mr. Karlsson walked in and found Eric Lundberg with his dick stuck in the milking machine!” Pam’s helpless with laughter, reminiscing about her 4-H days over tacos at Pita Margarita’s. She knows she’s a good storyteller, but Cyril is proving to be a much more amusing dinner companion than she’d expected, and he’s been egging her on all evening. It’s almost like a whole new side of him comes out when he’s alone with her, and if he’s still feeling as broken as he was last night, he’s hiding it awfully well. 

“You know, it’s funny?” His thoughts are apparently running along similar lines. “I’m having a really great time with you tonight. In all the years we’ve worked together, I think this is the first time we’ve ever really just… hung out by ourselves.”

“Hey, yeah! You’re right! We’ve been out for drinks and whatever a million times, but all the other dickbags we work with have always been there too, being their usual dickbag selves.” 

Cyril hunts for the right words. “It feels …refreshing, you know? For some reason, I just feel totally comfortable with you. Maybe because we both know it’s not a date, and we already know each other, so there’s no pressure to impress or try to be someone we’re not. There’s no … _pretense_ there.”

Pam feels a momentary flash of guilt, knowing that Cyril doesn’t know Lana sort of had a hand in this, but she banishes it right away. No matter what Lana asked her to do, Pam’s wanted another dance with Cyril since she woke up naked on his desk the last time, with no memory of how she got there. She doesn’t know if he feels quite the same, but he’d never have been the first one to suggest it if he didn’t want it at least a little, so she figures any guilt is a total waste of time. 

“Yeah. We both know what we want out of this, so all we have to do is relax and enjoy it.” Her smile is pure mischief, and she raises her eyebrows at him. “Think you’re ready?” 

His gaze is suddenly hot on hers, and by way of an answer, he reaches across the table to touch her; his thumb rests on the pout of her lower lip, catching there for half a second as her lips part in surprise. His fingers skate lightly around the curve of her jaw and trail down her throat, dipping into the hollow at its base and veering away just before they reach the edge of her dress. She shivers at his touch, and his dark eyes sparkle as a wicked grin spreads across his face. “Are _you?_ ” 

Her eyes go wide. _Oh, this is definitely going to be an interesting night…_

***

Pam barely gets a chance to close the door to her apartment before he’s kissing her. He’s got her backed up against the wall, drinking her in like water in the desert, hips grinding into hers; Cyril’s taller than she is, and he’s _solid,_ heavy against her and unexpectedly strong. She’s become used to fucking men and women who are smaller than she is, and the novelty of not having the physical advantage for once has her at fever pitch already.

Breathing hard, he breaks away to meet her eyes. “Is this okay? If you don’t want this, tell me now.” She just looks at him for a second, incredulous, before she huffs and pulls his face back down to hers, one knee rising so she can wrap a leg around him for good measure. His startled laugh disappears into her kiss, but she can feel the warmth of it and the curve of his smile imprinted on her lips even after his mouth leaves hers. 

He bares her skin one button at a time, immediately replacing fabric with hands and lips as he slowly works his way down. “My God,” he groans as he cups her breasts, thumbs drifting over the points of her nipples as he dips down to kiss them. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on these forever...” 

“Oh, _really?_ Never knew you’d been fantasizin’ about me in secret.” She laughs as she laces her fingers through his hair, urging him on breathlessly. He slides a hand into her panties and strokes her, smiling to find her already slick and scalding hot. 

“Is this all for me?” His voice is ragged, husky with desire, and finding the words to answer him is like swimming through honey. She settles for simplicity.

 _“Please.”_

Dropping to his knees in front of her, he gives her what she wants. She lets her head fall back against the wall and closes her eyes, thinking about how powerful it makes her feel to have him like this, and then her thoughts fragment as his long, clever fingers keep reaching, pressing, _curling_ into her, and then his tongue starts to swirl around her, and then she stops thinking at all. 

***

When she comes around, legs trembling and the champagne-blood fizz of orgasm receding, she finds herself sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall in a pile of her discarded clothing. Cyril sits patiently next to her, looking extremely proud of himself. He’s lost his glasses at some point in the proceedings, and in her daze she thinks his eyes look like really good chocolate, the expensive kind that just walks the line between milk and dark. 

“Welcome back.” He sounds amused. “Thought I’d lost you there for a minute.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Pam says eloquently. “If I’d known you could do that…” She can’t even finish that thought, but she doesn’t need to. He chuckles and stands up, extending a hand. 

“Shall we take this into the bedroom?” 

She tests her legs and finds they’ll hold her up again. This time it’s her turn to back him up against the wall, unbuttoning as she goes. “Hold on, buddy. You’re wearin’ way too many clothes for that.” 

He laughs and lets her strip his shirt off, filling his hands with her generous curves again as she tosses it aside to join the rest of the pile. She can’t help taking a moment to stand back and just admire him; in all the years she’s known him, she’s never seen him like this, totally relaxed and playful and confident. _Who knew this fine piece of man was hiding inside timid, nerdy Cyril all along? Nobody, and now he’s mine, and I get to have him all to myself for one night..._

He cocks his head at her, still smiling. “Regretting anything?”

“Only that I wasn’t sober enough to properly appreciate it last time we did this.” She laughs and grabs him by the belt buckle. “Now come on, I have some serious appreciatin’ to do.” 

***

Somehow they make it to her bedroom, although they’re too busy kissing to successfully negotiate the doorway and Cyril ends up cracking his elbow on the doorframe. 

“Shit! I’m definitely going to feel that in the morning.” 

“Awww, poor baby. Let me kiss it better for you.” Pam follows through, successfully distracting him from noticing that she’s gradually backing him toward her bed. He took her by surprise earlier, and she wants to turn the tables on him now; it works. The edge hits him at the back of the knees and he’s forced to sit down, looking surprised at first, then he laughs as she pounces on him. Pinning him to the bed, she presses her forehead to his, and her lips curve as she whispers “My turn.”

“Your turn?” he teases. “I thought you just had that!” 

She nips at his lower lip in retaliation, hands busy undoing his belt and zipper. “Ass. My turn to completely blow _your_ mind, I mean. Among other things.” When she slides his pants off, she catches her breath at the sight of him spread out on her bed, nothing but a pair of boxer briefs between her and what is clearly the most magnificent cock she’s ever had the pleasure to play with. She’s pulling those off too, when he catches her hand and stops her. 

“Wait. Before you… would you do something for me?” 

“Oh, I’m about to do a _lot_ of things for you.” She’s intent on her goal, and no matter what he wants her to do, it’s not going to stop her getting her hands and mouth and everything else on him.

For the first time all evening he looks a little shy. “Would you, um… take your hair down for me? I’ve never seen it down, and… I always wanted to.” 

“Awww, really? That’s so sweet!” She smiles at him as she takes out the pins keeping her hair in its usual bun, and it falls down around her shoulders in long, thick waves. Cyril’s eyes darken with desire, and he sighs as he reaches out and weaves his hands into it.

“God. It’s beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful.”

Pam knows it’s just her hand on his cock talking, but she’s never one to turn down a compliment anyway, no matter where it comes from. “No, honey. _This_ is beautiful.” 

She takes him into her mouth, works him slow and deep and lazy until he’s moaning, pleading, calling her name and God’s as he writhes under her. His hands were busy sweeping her hair away from her face so he could see her at first, but he’s well past that point now as he clutches desperately at the bed, back arched and head thrown back. 

“Please,” he gasps out. “Pam. I’m getting close… I can’t stop…” 

She stops what she’s doing just long enough to look him in the eyes and lick her lips. “Then don’t.” 

That’s all it takes. He’s gone.

***

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.” Cyril’s hands, fisted in the bedsheets, relax gradually as he comes back to earth. 

Pam can’t help but laugh. “You good little Catholic boys are all the same. One good beej and you’re prayin’ to a virgin.” 

“Not such a good little Catholic boy anymore.” He’s still trying to catch his breath. “Not sure I ever was, really.” 

"Well, move over, altar boy. You're hoggin' the bed." She crawls up next to him, and he obligingly rolls over to let her be the big spoon.

"Hope you don't mind if I pass out for a little bit after that one." He sinks back into her softness, voice blurred with sleep already. "That was incred’ble."

She could definitely use a nap before Round Two, so she's not about to object. "Right behind ya," she yawns, slinging her arm across his chest and resting her cheek in the curve of his shoulder. _Sex is fantastic,_ she thinks, _but there's nothing like a good snuggle afterward._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the night, and the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut's not over yet, folks.

When Pam wakes up, it takes her a second to remember why Cyril's in her bed, snoring gently. He's rolled over in his sleep to face her, but he's still out cold, so she takes the opportunity to study him. He sleeps like he thinks, all furrowed-brow concentration; she hates to see any stress on his face after the phenomenal night he’s already given her, so she strokes his hair just where it turns silver at the temples until his forehead smooths out.

He makes a sleepy contented noise and snuggles in closer, and she feels an unexpected pang of sweetness for him. She's always been a sucker for the underdog - hell, that's probably why she's worked at ISIS as long as she has - and Cyril's picture is probably in the dictionary next to the definition, but she can't help thinking that maybe there are hidden depths to this man that none of them have ever seen, or ever bothered to look for. _Could it be that maybe all he needs is for someone to actually be_ ...nice _to him? It can't be that simple, can it?_

She turns her back to him and drifts off to sleep, vowing to herself that even though this is undoubtedly going to be a one-night stand, she's going to do her best to treat him better from now on, no matter what.

***

She wakes again to find Cyril pressed up against her back, face buried in her hair and tight grip around her waist, and he's radiating heat like a bonfire. He's also most definitely ready to go again; she can feel his cock wedged between them, fully awake even if he's not. She grins to herself, hoping he's not going to have an attack of self-loathing and leave her apartment before she can get a piece of that.

She can't resist a little experimental ass-wiggle, which has the desired effect. He stirs, letting go of her long enough to brush her hair out of his face, and stretches full-length against her back, creating very interesting sensations in the process.

"Wh'time is it?" He can't see the clock without his glasses, she realizes.

"2:47 AM. You were passed the hell out and I didn't wanna wake you."

"Oh, God. I'm sorry."

"Don't get all apologetic on me, now. I take it as a compliment." Pam looks over her shoulder at him. Fortunately he has a sleepy little smile on his face, so she figures the odds of him fleeing are getting lower by the minute. _Awesome._ She rolls onto her back, and he immediately snuggles up to her side. _Awesomer and awesomer._

“So, I’m gonna guess you’re not hating yourself for what we did earlier, since you’re still here?” 

“God, no!” He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at her, fully awake now and incredulous. “That was _amazing._ Why would I hate myself?” 

“Well, no offense, but it’s kinda your thing. And… it’s not like I haven’t had that happen before…” She can’t quite meet his eyes, suddenly having an insecurity attack of her own. 

"Hey. Look at me." He cups her chin in his hand and gently turns her face toward his. "I want you to know I'm here because I want to be, OK? If I'd gone out and picked up somebody I didn't know, or a call girl or something, yeah, I'd probably be hating myself right now. I asked _you_ because I knew I wouldn't."

"Not quite followin’ ya there."

"It's hard to put into words…” Cyril sighs. “It’s like I said at dinner. I just feel comfortable with you – you don’t intimidate me like the rest of them do, which is funny because you could kick my ass every day and twice on Sunday. But sometimes I think you're the only person in that whole godforsaken office who really gives a damn about anyone but themselves or ever tells the truth, and you always do exactly what you want to do, so I knew you wouldn't say yes unless you really wanted to, and you wouldn't make me feel bad about it afterward. I guess I just ...trusted you."

"Wow." Pam thinks it over for a minute, and decides the only acceptable response is to kiss him to make sure he means it. She grabs his ass, too, because it’s right there and why not? 

He makes a sound deep in his throat that might be a growl, might be a purr, and covers her body with his own. She can feel him, rock-hard against her core, and she squirms under him to try to get the angle just right.

"Oh, no you don't," he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive spot where her ear meets her jaw. "Not yet. I’m going to take my sweet time with you now."

He keeps his promise, savoring her for what feels like hours. She's been reduced to incoherent pleading by the time he finally enters her, stretching and filling her a little at a time until he's buried to the hilt. She arches up to meet him, entwining her legs with his, rocking to the slow deep rhythm he sets. Her world narrows to the flex and roll of his hips, the pleasure-pain of his teeth on her neck, the low teasing whispers in her ear, _oh yes, you feel so good, so hot, so tight,_ until she comes undone at last and the force of her orgasm tears away the last shreds of his own control. 

The aftershocks turn rapidly into tremors of silent laughter; he kisses her forehead, gently brushing her sweat-damp hair out of the way. "I'm almost afraid to ask what's so funny, but I'm dying to know."

She's laughing out loud now, utterly delighted. "I was just thinkin'... How in the actual hell did I _ever_ get drunk enough to forget _that?_ "

He can’t hold back his own laughter. “I have _no_ idea. God, if it weren’t for bourbon, we could have had a night like this a long time ago!” 

“Well, now that we know how goddamn frickin’ fantastic it was, we’re gonna remember it this time, right?” She stretches luxuriously, whole body humming with satisfaction.

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” He chuckles and moves in for another kiss. “I might need a reminder occasionally. Or two, or three…” 

“Oh. _Ohhhh._ I am _so_ open to that.” 

*** 

One night is not enough. 

They sleep scandalously late Sunday morning, make themselves just presentable enough to go out for brunch, and come right back to do it all over again. And whenever they need a break, they talk. 

By the time the weekend’s over, they know each other inside and out. Both motherless, both country kids desperate to light out for the big city as soon as they could, both absolutely determined to make it on their own, no matter what. He knows why she got her back tattooed; she knows why he’s afraid of nuns. The stories pour out of them, one after another, each one like pearls on a string. 

He doesn’t leave her apartment until early Monday morning, just in time to get home and change for work. (It’ll look too suspicious if they both call in sick on the same day, even though they both totally want to.) 

Nothing is promised, nothing is planned, but they both know this is going to happen again. And again. 

***

One weekend is not enough.

He’s her secret indulgence, decadent and exquisite, and she finds herself indulging more and more often as the weeks go on. They know all of each other’s triggers by now. He leaves truffles on her desk and she’s wet thinking of the way his eyes go dark-chocolate with pleasure when he’s inside her; she shakes out her hair in the middle of a staff meeting and he’s like iron in a heartbeat. They go days without spending more than an hour apart. 

No one else knows, even though they’ve taken appalling risks, and it’s a miracle they haven’t been caught in the act yet. Last week they sneaked into Malory’s office when she was out to lunch, and she rode him in Malory’s desk chair until they were both limp and gasping. Malory couldn’t fail to notice the smell of sex when she returned, but she berated Archer for it, while Pam and Cyril avoided looking at each other for fear they’d crack up and give themselves away. Archer still hasn’t figured out who the real culprits were. 

They’ve all noticed Cyril’s increased confidence, how he shakes off the insults that used to get to him, and how he’s much more cheerful than he used to be, but nobody knows what’s behind it. Nobody except Lana, who pulls Pam aside one day to thank her. “I don’t want to know what you did to him, but it definitely seems to have worked,” she says. “He hasn’t begged me to take him back in months.” 

Pam waves away her gratitude, not wanting to admit she’s still doing it. Not because she’s ashamed of it; she makes it a rule never to be ashamed of anything she does. It’s because acknowledging it to someone else, putting a name to this unnameable thing that she and Cyril have together, feels like betraying it somehow. 

After all, they haven’t even acknowledged it to each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery, and a discovery.

It's inevitable, of course. They can't keep the secret forever.

They're all out at their favorite bar one night when Ray appears next to Lana, tugging urgently at her sleeve. He's lit up like a Christmas tree and Lana knows from experience that the look on his face can only mean there's a major gossip bomb incoming.

"Lana!" he hisses in her ear. "Oh my God, girl, you _have_ to come see this!" She glances over and sees Archer at the bar ordering another round, so she gets up and follows Ray obediently. He leads her to the back of the bar, and using the signs they both learned in their field training, signals her to peek around the corner into the employees-only corridor.

Whatever she expects to see, it certainly isn't Cyril pinning Pam up against the wall, mouth on her breasts and hand up her skirt. She can't hear Pam over the music in the bar, but the look on her face tells Lana all she needs to know.

Lana whips her head back around the corner, eyes like dinner plates, and mouths _Holy shit!!!_ at Ray.

He's practically dancing in place with glee. "I _know!_ Guess the booze was hittin’ em extra hard tonight!"

Lana shakes her head. "I don't think so." The pieces are all beginning to fall into place for her now. "Remember that night we all went out for karaoke, and Cyril embarrassed the shit out of himself?"

"Gonna have to be more specific, considering that happens every time we go out."

"No, asshole, the _last_ time! When Krieger revealed his rock god alter ego."

"Oh, yeah, I _definitely_ remember that." Ray grins and fans himself. "Wait. So you're sayin’ this all started back then? That was months ago!"

"Yuuuup. After Cyril's little performance, I begged Pam to, and I quote, ‘fuck the desperation out of him.’ I guess she just never bothered to stop."

"Dukes. Can't argue with results, I guess - he's been like a totally different person lately."

Lana’s hit with a sudden thought. "Oh, my God! It was _them!_ " She can't help laughing despite her indignation. "Those absolute little _shits!_ I'll bet you anything they were the ones who screwed in Malory's office, and Archer and I got the blame for it!"

"Serves ya right, since I'm pretty sure y’all actually did that at some point and didn't get caught." Ray knows her far too well.

"Shut up." She risks another quick peek around the corner. "I cannot believe this. I don't remember him ever putting _me_ up against a wall like that."

"Don't be a greedy bitch, now. You had your turn."

Lana glares at Ray. "I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I just meant... I think she's good for him. He’s seemed so much happier lately."

"I just wonder why they're tryin’ to hide it?" he muses. "If it's really been goin’ on for months and none of us knew, they obviously don't _want_ us to know."

"Who knows? I'm not about to out them to everybody. But I _am_ going to give her seven kinds of shit about it tomorrow."

***

As soon as she gets to work the next morning, Lana saunters into Pam's office and shuts the door behind her, grinning evilly. Pam looks up from her computer and rolls her eyes.

"Got your complaint form right here. Who's got your panties in a wad today?"

"Oh, I'm not here for that," Lana says sweetly. "I'm here because I know who's got _your_ panties in a wad, or should I say, who knows you're probably not wearing any."

Pam's reaction is everything Lana could have hoped for; she looks for all the world like a naughty child who's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "How'd you know? Did he tell you?"

"What?? No! I haven't talked to Cyril about anything not work-related in months. It's been a nice change, actually. No, we saw you at the bar last night, in the back hallway. Looked like you were having a pret-ty good time." 

_If Lana looked any more smug, she'd have to buy herself a Prius,_ Pam thinks. "Who's we? I'm gonna assume not Archer, since he's not in here with you givin' me shit."

"Don't worry. It was Ray who saw you first, and he's not gonna say anything to anybody. I'm not either - I'm actually happy for both of you. I think you're good for him."

Pam's not buying it. "Come on! It's not like we're dating or anything. We're just having lots and lots of surprisingly amazing sex."

"You've obviously been fucking like bunnies for months, but yet, you're not dating." Lana's completely deadpan. "I think maybe somebody ought to tell Cyril that. He's not exactly the friends-with-benefits type."

"It's not like that!" Pam protests. "We're not, like, _together_ -together."

"Sure you're not. Tell me this. Are either of you fucking anybody else?"

"Well, I'm not, and I don't think he is either. I'm keepin' him too busy for that." Her face blooms into a thoroughly satisfied grin.

Lana gives her the side-eye for that one, but decides to let it slide for now. "Next question. Have you ever slept together and didn't have sex?"

"Well… yeah, a few times, but usually because I was playin' Alabama."

"Playing Alabama?"

"Yeah! You know, the Crimson Tide? Ridin’ the cotton pony? CSI: My Panties?"

"O- _kay._ Ewww.” Lana shudders.

Pam rolls her eyes. “Really? I helped pull a frickin’ _baby_ out of your cooch and you’re gonna get all squicky with me for talkin’ about periods?” 

Lana opens her mouth to retort, then closes it again as she realizes Pam has a point. “Fine. Whatever. So there _have_ been times you weren't, uh, temporarily closed for maintenance, but you slept together with no sex anyway?"

Reluctantly, Pam's forced to admit it.

"Moving on. I know you're a certified badass and all, but has he ever seen you cry?"

"Lana, what’s your _point?_ "

"I'm getting to that. Just answer the frickin' question!"

"Okay. _Fine._ Yes. I was on the phone with my dad and Edie and she was being a total ginormous bitch to me like she always is. I was crying when I hung up so he hugged me till I felt better and then I gave him the MOAB as a thank you."

" _Really_ don't want to know what that is, especially when it involves my ex-boyfriend. Last question, and this is the clincher. Does he cook stir-fry for you every Friday?"

"Jesus, no!" Pam's genuinely surprised by that question. "He's never even suggested it. Everybody knows that was _your_ thing. Anyway, I hate stir-fry. He's been teachin' himself to cook Mexican food for me..."

As Pam hears her own words, her jaw drops and her eyes widen in sudden realization, and Lana loses the battle to hold in her laughter.

"Aw, _shit._ "

Lana pats her on the shoulder. "You, my friend, are In A Relationship. Dating. Going steady. Locked down. Whatever the kids are calling it these days."

" _Shit!_ I don't believe it! How the hell did that happen?"

"Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much..." Pam waves her stapler threateningly at Lana, who flees the office, laughing her ass off, before Pam can throw it at her.

***

The more she thinks about it, the more she knows that Lana is right. Her mind is racing, and it's a good thing she wasn't actually planning to do any work today, because she can't focus on anything else.

_How could I have totally failed to notice it when we went from fuckbuddies to… something more? Was it because I thought it was going to be a one-night stand? Or because we never told anybody about it? Am I in love with him? Oh, Christ on a bike, what if he's in love with me?_

And one tiny little thought that she tries desperately to stuff away and ignore: _What if he's not?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the feels, wrapped up in a nice fluffy bow.

They're watching a movie on Cyril’s couch that night, his hand idly stroking through her hair, and Pam thinks they couldn't have picked a more relationship-y activity if they'd tried. _Strike one. Seriously, what the fuck is_ wrong _with you, Poovey? How did you not see this happening?_

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" Cyril's looking adorably worried. _Strike two._ "You don't seem like yourself tonight."

She takes a deep breath, figures she should at least fill him in on the essentials. "Lana came to my office today. She and Ray saw us last night at the bar."

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry. I knew that was probably a bad place to get all frisky with you, but I just couldn't resist." 

"It's okay. I certainly didn't want to stop you." She manages a wavering smile.

"Is that why you're upset? I don't think they told anybody else, or at least not Archer, because he didn't say anything to me and I know for a fact he would have.” Cyril rolls his eyes. “He’d never pass up an opportunity like that.”

"No, I’m not upset about that. I don't care if anybody knows, I just thought the sneakin' around was kinda fun. Makes me feel like a teenager again."

"Wait." He's looking utterly confused now. "You don't care? Then why have we been keeping it a secret for so long? I thought you didn't want anybody to know about us!"

"Okay, first of all, I never told anybody because I thought _you_ wouldn't want anybody to know. When I was bangin’ Archer, he told me he'd literally die of shame if anyone ever found out. And second of all..."

She trails off, not sure how to put this. "Until today… I guess I didn’t know there was an 'us.' I kinda thought all along we were like best friends with really awesome benefits, but I’m startin’ to realize it’s maybe turned into more than that. Like, possibly an actual relationship." She hangs her head. "You probably think I'm pretty stupid."

Cyril doesn't say anything at first. He just gathers her into his arms, holding her tight and rubbing her back until he can find just the right words.

"I am going to _kill_ Archer."

Of all the things she expected to come out of his mouth after her confession, that wasn't one of them. "'Scuse me?"

"I am going to kill Archer," he repeats. "Of all the shitty, shitty things he's ever done, and there are undoubtedly enough to fill the entire ISIS mainframe, this has to be right up at the top of the list." He shakes his head angrily. "How he could make someone like _you_ feel like you're not good enough to be acknowledged in public..."

He lets her go just enough to be able to look her in the eye. "I want to tell you something and I don't want you to freak out, okay?" She nods. _He’s going to tell me he’s in love with me,_ she thinks.

"You saved my life."

_Wait. What??_

"It's hard to admit, but... that night after the bar, when you said I looked like I was going to go home and shoot myself..." Cyril pauses and sighs. "You were… closer to the truth than you knew."

His confession is a shock-gloved punch to her gut. "You... but... Oh, my _God._ You were really gonna do it?"

"I was done. Ready to check out, or at least I thought I was. That night I thought I had nothing left to live for. Dead-end job working with a bunch of bullies, in love with someone who didn't love me anymore or probably never did, total embarrassment and disappointment to everyone... but then you came down the street after me and didn't seem to care. You just took care of me when I needed it, and you didn't ask for anything in return."

"Cyril..." She can’t seem to catch her breath.

"I was sitting there on your couch, eating all your ice cream, and thinking about how you're always so cheerful and uninhibited and just so… full of life, and some part of me just thought, _I need that._ It was like, if you were willing to somehow share that with me, then maybe I’d be okay."

“And… you thought bangin’ me would do that?” She tries to laugh, but it ends up being more of a sob. 

“It made sense to me at the time.” He shrugs. "And maybe it was crazy screwed-up thinking, but it ended up being the best decision I ever made. You _saved_ me, Pam, and you didn't even know it."

Her chin is trembling now and she's afraid to say anything for fear she'll cry, but he reaches out to brush away the one tear she couldn't quite hold in, and his eyes lock with hers.

"And after that, I fell head over heels in love with you, and I _want_ everybody to know about it. I could never, never be ashamed of you! You're funny as hell, and strong, and brave, and a lot smarter than any of those assholes give you credit for. You have the biggest, most generous heart of anyone I know. And you're gorgeous, and you are ridiculously good in bed. Anyone who _ever_ tries to make you feel like you're not good enough for them is a blind, brainless fool. Even if you do fart like a truck driver."

That does it. She can't hold it back anymore, dissolving into laughter and tears as he rocks her. When she finally regains enough control to speak, she's wrapped so tightly in his arms that she can't quite tell where she ends and he begins. Cyril always gives the best hugs, and there's something deeply comforting about his warm, solid presence, so she risks a few words, just to test the waters.

"I can’t believe I never figured it out."

"What’s that?" He's gentle, reassuring, not wanting to spook her when she's finally opening up.

"That you felt like that..." She tries again, with the right words this time. "That you were ...in love with me. I never in a million years thought that could happen. I thought you were hung up on Lana and I was your distraction. Never occurred to me it was anythin’ more."

"I'm not going to lie to you – that probably _is_ what it was, at the very beginning. I don't really know what my thought process was at the time… I just wanted the pain to stop. But it wasn’t long at all before I realized that pining after Lana made me want to die. Being with _you_ makes me want to live."

"And all this time I thought we were just havin' fun…" She sniffles a bit. "And then you go and tell me you were ten minutes away from killin' yourself when I asked you to come home with me, and if I hadn't done that you wouldn't be here right now, and we wouldn't have ever had any of this..." The full impact hits her all at once and her voice breaks. "And… that means I was a hair away from losin’ you and I never even would have known what I really lost."

She looks up at him, light finally dawning. "I think I might be in love with you too."

"I don't think there's any 'might' about it. You're definitely in love with me." He’s grinning at her like he’s never known how to do anything else, so lit up with joy he couldn’t begin to hide it even if he wanted to. 

"Oh, now you're gonna get all cocky, are you?" She laughs through her tears. "Listen, buddy. This really sexy man I know told me I'm ridiculously good in bed and a lot of other nice stuff. I’m a catch! I have options, so you better behave yourself…"

He doesn’t even dignify that with a response beyond a kiss.

***

Later that night, after Cyril's gone to sleep, Pam pulls out her phone to send a quick text to Lana. She types and deletes a few words, trying to decide on the best way to get her point across, and she finally settles for the simplest and truest.

_Thank you._

She'll know what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so apparently I'm completely incapable of writing anything without massive amounts of fluff, so I decided to just go with it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and if you liked your cruise on this ship, leave me a note and let me know!


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